


The Pauper and the Rentboy

by TheDreadPirate



Category: Blinkende lygter | Flickering Lights (2000), Casino Royale (2006), Tempo (2003)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Derogatory Language, Light BDSM, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince and the Pauper inspired, Shameless Smut, but he's never felt like this so just go with it, either way i'm sorry, i might take some of it seriously though, i think this is crack, ooc Arne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreadPirate/pseuds/TheDreadPirate
Summary: Arne wants something more, Le Chiffre wants a scapegoat, and Jack just wants some attention.Or... the (only slightly) Prince and the Pauper AU that no one asked for and wouldn't let me sleep.





	1. Money, Solver of all Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! First time writing Hannigram and I don't even start with literal Hannigram? Sounds about right.
> 
> I hope this is somewhat palatable... good luck!

Once upon an alternate universe, there lived a handsomely scarred man who fancied himself royalty of sorts. A genius thriving in the underworld who was known for his business acumen as well as his ruthlessness. The problem here being that he has become too known and now hunted by those who wish him dead.

He hadn't intended to willfully betray Obanno. Machinations not his own have landed him in the position of being sought by his former, very dangerous, client. And now this man, Le Chiffre as he is called, must decide which path leads to his salvation.

He could earn the money he owes the warlord by arranging a high-stakes poker tournament. He has faith in his abilities to come out the winner but there is always a chance he could lose. Just as there is a chance Obanno will discover any of his safe houses including the one in Paris, the very one he stands in now. With that prospect alone, he opts for the running away option. Cowardly yes, but the 'living to fight another day' aspect is what wins in the end.

After accepting his retreat he only needs to relinquish control of his plan to Valenka, his lover whom he values not only for her body but for her cunning and technical expertise.

"We already have a few hits," Valenka calls out. "I kept the parameters pretty loose but I did emphasize your cheekbones, depth of your eye sockets, and the length of your jaw line. Here, check it out. The proposed matches are loading now."

She is proud of herself for seamlessly hacking into the local law enforcement databases. The facial recognition software she'd previously stolen from Interpol works like a dream and is plucking out potentials from thin air for Le Chiffre's perusal.

He can't appreciate the wealth of good tech going on, however, as he grows irritated with the choices before him. He's just about to berate who efforts when a hushed curse falls from his lips directing her attention back to the screen where a man with his face scowls from a mugshot.

"Voila! And there is your luck, Le Chiffre. Your ace of spades." She grins, even more pleased with herself this time and assumes control of the computer once the man steps back still stunned at their find.

"Mein Doppelgänger." Le Chiffre whispers to himself recalling German fairy tales told to him in his youth.

Valenka laughs a bit at the superstitious nature of it all. She knows nothing supernatural is afoot. That this look alike isn't a sign of bad things to come. It is a coincidence. One that will ensure her lovers' safety if all goes their way.

"Alright, last known residence is in Copenhagen," Valenka clicks away at the keyboard extracting the entire recordable life of a previously unknown man. "He's connected to a small local crime ring there. I'll make a profile to discern the best approach to entice him over-"

"Money." Le Chiffre states as he comes back to the present. "A man like that, small time, obviously angry. We'll offer him an obscene amount of money and that'll be that. Well, obscene for him at least."

Valenka chuckles slightly at his wit, or lack thereof, and then joins Le Chiffre in leering at the police record of their mark, a man named Arne Damgaard.

 

\-----

 

Meanwhile, 1,200 kilometers away in Denmark, an equally handsome man who **wishes** he could envision himself as a royal is having a bit of a big think.

\---

Arne wonders if he'll always remember this moment.

The moment he finally realized that his life is shit and is going… fucking… nowhere.

They had just finished a job that was like a hundred others they've pulled over the years. After all these similar jobs they meet in a shitty little warehouse where Torkild counts their measly take and divides it up. It always seems like a big haul until they get back to base and the stack gets shorter after the fucking Eskimo gets his "finder's fee". Then the scraps are given to Stefan, Peter, and Arne.

Only this time there is something different. Arne stares at the wad in his hand and for whatever reason, the glamor that once surrounded the gang life he covets is lifted. He's left staring at rent money with a little left for food, drink, and smokes.

6,000 kroner looks sexy all rolled up in small bills like this but it's just not enough anymore. Arne remembers the first time he was paid for services rendered; he was just a dumb kid then. He remembers thinking it was just like in the crime movies he watched his whole life. He thought he was going to be some bad-ass, gun-toting gangster. Well, he does consider himself to be a bad-ass and he does have several guns at his disposal. But shouldn't there be more?

Has he wasted all these years being a lackey with nothing better to show for it?

Arne grips the money tightly wishing for the first time that he had other options. Nothing legit of course. He would rather die before becoming a corporate puppet. No, he likes the thrill of this life. He just needs a better fucking payday!

He finally shoves the money into his pocket and is just abandoning his train of thought when he feels his mobile vibrating in his pocket. He sees it's blocked but most people block their numbers in his line of work. The question is, how did they get **his** number?

He swipes to accept the call and then waits for the other to speak first.

 _"Damgaard? Mr. Arne Damgaard?"_ A woman asks with a sexy lilt to her voice.

"Who the fuck is this?" Arne responds. He knows damn well he didn't give this number out to any chicks.

_"Who I am isn't important right now Mr. Damgaard. I'm calling because I have a proposition from my employer. He has been looking for a good man and your name was given as a recommendation."_

Arne stays silent but scowls as he tries to think of fucking who would recommend him for any-fucking-thing.

 _"My employer is a very important man, Mr. Damgaard,"_ She continues through his silence. _"He needs a professional who can be discreet as well as do their job properly. We were made aware of your skills and believe we can offer a mutually beneficial arrangement. Are you available to meet and further discuss this possibility?"_

"Who the fuck gave you my name?" Arne isn't stupid enough to let a sexy voice trick him into an ambush or something like that.

_"Your caution pleases my employer greatly, Mr. Damgaard. It is wise to be wary. I have spoken to a man who goes by the moniker of Eskimo. We went through him to verify your abilities and work experience."_

Arne shakes his head. The fucking Eskimo. What game is he playing? Does Torkild know about this?

 _"I know this sounds shady Arne,"_ she continues, laying off the sultry tones as it doesn't seem to be working. _"I cannot relay the full plot over the phone but my employer needs a strong team to guard him. This Eskimo wasn't the only route we took to get to you. Through technology, I've found that you have a very similar look to my employer. This will prove beneficial not only to him but could prove exceedingly lucrative for you."_

"Just how lucrative then huh?" Is all he asks. The idea of more (more money, more things, more pussy) has him abandoning any of that caution she valued so much.

_"I am authorized to offer you kr500,000 for your services for one months time."_

Arne starts chuckling. "Kr500,000? Yeah. Just for looking like some fucking guy? What's the catch? He wants to see what it's like to fuck himself or what?" There's always a fucking catch, he knows that much. There is no fucking way this is for real. Not after he was just daydreaming about a new life like a Disney character. Fucking Pinnochio offered the chance to become a real boy and all that bullshit.

_"No, of course not. Nothing so sordid as all that. The catch is that you must stay in Paris for the entire month living in my employers home. You are allowed access to his vehicles, there is also an allotment for any expenses you may have during this time and you have access to his current companion as well."_

"How can you sound so serious? This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I get half a million kroner, a house, cars, and bitches? For one whole month?" He knows it's ridiculous but he can't stop the small part of himself that hopes it is real, the same part that keeps him from hanging up already.

_"This is a very serious matter in fact. But this is all we can discuss at this time, more information will be provided in person. I will send you the address and time of the meeting. This is quite real Mr. Damgaard. I hope you take this opportunity with all seriousness. We hope to see you soon."_

The call ends and Arne promptly begins laughing at his ridiculous change of luck. His laughing starts breathy but grows into his usual manic giggle when he gets the promised text with a Parisian address.

Peter looks up at him from counting his wad and shakes his head. "Have you finally lost the last shred of your sanity, Arne?"

In response, Arne laughs louder and flips Peter off. He then offers a finger each to Stefan and Torkild as he backs away. "See you later, dickheads! I'll be gone for awhile. Just got a call from my dear old granny. She needs me to help her for a month and is offering to pay me through her hospice service." And that's that. He's covered his whereabouts. They don't need to know the truth until he comes back and rubs it in their faces. He slams the door behind him on his way out and the others are left to shrug off his behavior. It's pretty standard Arne.

He's almost running to his shitty car he's so fucking happy. He kicks the door hard enough to dent it, laughing as he thinks about the new car he's going to buy. Kr500,000 won't get him a BMW or anything close but it'll get him out of this fucking beater he's been driving for nearly a decade.

He could even get into a better apartment too. Or at least fix up the one he has. Buy a huge flatscreen, surround sound, and a new fucking X-Box!

And what if this guy needs his services again? He tries to tell himself to calm down but how can he when everything is going his way finally?

This is going to solve all of his problems, he just knows it. His favorite movie of all time pops into his head with Scarface saying something like: "First you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the women." Arne knows that once he has nicer things he can get a better class of bitch to fuck him too. He'll be able to afford a beautiful girl who knows how to please a man and when to shut the fuck up. That's what he needs.

Of course, he ignores the fact that he's now blaming the entirety of his previous impotent attempts at wooing women on his lack of money and possessions. We'll come back to that later.

He throws his shitty Acura into gear and speeds off to his crummy place to pack his few possessions. He's got a new life calling his name and he'll need his fucking toothbrush.


	2. Sex, Proof of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally introducing the amazing Jack! You might invest in some knee pads kid, those marble floors are unforgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so much longer than i thought and I ended up cutting the chapter in half. Hopefully i can finish number three quicker.

Once more upon the same AU, there lived a lovely young man who, along the way, learned some iffy shit about the ways of love.

But let's not get into that angst trap until it's too late, shall we? Rather let's focus on how sometimes the wrong ways can feel so damn right.

Cut to our darling young man's current position. Knees digging painfully into the stone floor of the foyer; his mouth closing slowly around a man's cock. Our boy Jack's eyes sparkle and aim to sear into the very soul of this man whom himself submits in wonder to this surprise-pleasure.

Jack hungers for his favorite piece of meat but before he devours he can't help but to play. The foreskin has always been one of his personal favorites. Perhaps his fascination is due to his own cock being cut as is the American fashion, but the only thing that matters is how the extra skin pulls away from the silky smoothness of the protected head. His tongue darting under the skin to chase the hidden musk of his lover.

He gathers the pre-cum that dribbles slow, yet steady onto his tongue. He might be imagining things in his desperate lust but he thinks for a moment that his lover has never tasted better than right now.

Jack will try to remember to ask if he'd eaten pineapple later but he's distracted already thinking how hard he'd gotten just from hearing the key turn in the door. He had leapt from the couch and came sprinting down the hall, stopping long enough to gage Le Chiffre's mood.

The black leather patch told Jack that his lover's damaged left eye was giving him trouble again. However, he deemed it not serious enough to derail his plans. Not even when he saw that the man's good eye was blown wide open in shock. Jack had to quell his own surprise at seeing such a foreign expression on Le Chiffre's ever stoic face.

Nevertheless, a salacious grin had spread across Jack's lips as he dropped, squatting, working open belted pants to release the tasty treat from black trousers and briefs. He'd adjusted to his knees, settling in before finally taking his first lick of salty goodness.

Jack shakes himself from his silly reverie as he takes the cock back to meet his throat choking, cacking on it and then lifting off to spread his spit over the rigid dick in his hand. Le Chiffre gasps and chokes as well, not in sympathy but rather difficulty catching his breath. Jack takes Le Chiffre into his mouth again, this time relaxing his throat enough for entry and effectively robbing the other man of any air he'd managed to swallow.

Jack's two eyes then gaze up into Le Chiffre's one but there's no concern for its lost twin as is it bathes Jack in a beautifully awed appreciation.

The younger man feels powerful, special, loved in this moment. He won't question the sudden sprouting of emotions in this erstwhile cold-blooded man. Rather, he tries to convey all of his own reverence for his lover with his own eyes. They water from happiness but mostly from the large prick working in and out of his throat.

It's been two months since Le Chiffre left on business but Jack is surprised at how difficult it is to take the man's cock comfortably as he always had. It seems so much thicker and longer, but Jack only gets harder at the thought and decides to ask about new prescriptions at a later date.

"Fuck, you-" Le Chiffre sputters, sounding like he had to force those words from a throat as occupied as the boy's is.

Jack pulls his mouth away with a pop, fearful of reprimands for his poor performance. But Le Chiffre only swallows heavily and gives Jack this scathing indictment: "You're so… **fucking** hot."

Jack feels his entire body flush with a molten heat that starts at his scalp and flows painfully, slowly like lava down his chest, pooling at his already heated groin.

In any other relationship this behavior; eye contact, compliments, any basic fucking human emotion; might have been commonplace. And even though Jack wishes this were the case he's long since abandoned the dream of a mutually amorous Chiffre.

So all he's left with is to suppose the man is "on one". And Jack certainly hopes that is the case and that his not-boyfriend brought along more of the magic emotion inducing drug.

_Or, you could calm the fuck down and stop over thinking this!_ Says the little voice in Jack's head that always wants to make sure he's somewhat grounded in reality; the trifling ass bitch.

Finally, he comes back from his head again to offer up a belated yet still heartfelt: "All for you, baby", before diving back to task with gusto.

He runs his hands up lightly furred, bare legs and over a still clothed, fluttering stomach. Before he can dig his fingers through the shirt into chest, Le Chiffre swats his hands away reaching down to dig his own fingertips into soft waves of chocolate brown. He then tightens his hold just enough on Jack's skull, firm yet kind, and begins to slowly fuck his face.

The younger man is pleasantly full and beyond grateful for his lover's thoughtful control; Jack enjoys this as a rare gift.

No matter how fleeting this gentle Chiffre's mood might prove to be, Jack is caught up in how lovely the moment is. His lover looking down at him finally seeming to mirror his devotion; making delicious little whimpers in spite of his show of dominance. Jack can't help a few tears from breaking over his cheeks.

At this his lover pauses, asking if he's ok or wants to stop. Jack shakes his head desperately as he pulls Le Chiffre's hips forward, driving his dick deeper into his mouth. This causes the man to stumble a bit before leaning back heavily against the front door.

He cums soon after that, loud and, in keeping with his current mood, sounding utterly surprised. Jack drinks every last drop of his lovers' jizz and then climbs up his body, proud and purring as he rubs against him.

He grins after he's able to stabilize his breathing faster than poor Le Chiffre.

Jack is thrumming with such contentment that he ignores his own neglected hard-on in favor of asking his sated lover how his trip went. Le Chiffre is still panting, mouth agape and begins to answer but seems so distracted still that Jack takes pity, offering a sweet smile as he leads them to bed. He fills up the quiet left by Le Chiffre by chattering about what he'd been up to in his absence and doesn't stop until he decides he's ready to cum and initiates round two.

It's during this whirlwind of sexual enterprise that Le Chiffre, or Arne as we know him truly, finally wonders just what the fuck he's gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm into constructive criticism btw. Lay it on me.

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see I took the liberty of giving Arne a last name (did anyone catch one in the film?) cuz i can't not obsessively look up Danish Surnames at two in the morning, i just can't! 
> 
> And I had to find a website that pronounces names for you a well so here's that: Arne Damgaard: Arn-uh Dam-go
> 
> And yeah, I complicated things by adding another Mads character. Again, i can't seem to stop myself from doing these things. Just trust that at the least I have some smut on the horizon. Just bear with me till we get there, pwease? :D
> 
> Oh and no Jack this chapter! What kind of maniac is running this show?! Trust me he's coming full force in the next chapter...


End file.
